


Beggars Would Ride

by theleaveswant



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: F/M, Gap Filler, M/M, Missing Scene, Multi, One of My Favorites, Other, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/theleaveswant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a long way from Los Angeles to Springfield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beggars Would Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redbrunja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbrunja/gifts).



> For the prompt "beggars would ride" from redbrunja. This is me freewheeling, filling in some of the logical and emotional holes between the fight at the pier and the codas before & during the credits.

Pooch wants to make a beeline for Springfield the moment the evil space egg is de-activated, fear for Jolene's safety should Max decide to sic someone on her barely eclipsing fear for his own safety should she give birth without him, and it takes Cougar ghosting up behind him with a syringe full of meperidine to persuade him to wait until he's stopped pouring blood like a tapped cask. Then of course there's the snuke to deal with, because they can't very well take it with them, nor leave it where it is for Max's goons to pick up. Aisha suggests that they call in the independent media, then wanders away to stare at the burning plane while Jensen gets it done.

Clay watches her as he butchers his shirt to bandage his own wounds – he'll wait for his turn under the needle until they're well clear of this shitpile – expecting her to vanish without trace every time he has to glance away. She doesn't. He's not sure what to make of that.

"Need a lift?" he calls to her, when Cougar gives him the nod – the patient is ready to move, time to clear out. She climbs into the Hummer without a word, but the taciturnity is not surprising. Even Jensen is silent as they roll away from the battle-scarred port.

They trade the stretch monstrosity for something less conspicuous, albeit more snug. Jensen actually stops to kiss the thing goodbye. They proceed, all five of them, to the bus station where the Losers stashed their stuff after the shoot-out propelled them to evacuate their hotel. Once Clay has his gear, he debates searching Roque's. He elects not to pop the lock. Roque wouldn't leave anything he had on Max there, if he knew what was coming, and Clay's not ready to find anything else.

Aisha goes to another locker, at the far end of the row from theirs, and pulls out a backpack of her own.

"Um," Jensen says like he thinks he might be seeing things when Aisha stalks past them to their new ride and tosses her bag in the back. "Are you coming with us?"

"Is there a problem with that?" she asks. She raises her chin defiantly, in a manner Clay recognizes immediately as saying 'it's not because I don't have anywhere else to go' and meaning 'I don't have anywhere else to go.' He wore it often enough himself in the year and a half between getting thrown out of the house and throwing himself into the military. He's not sure whether he believes it, coming from her.

Jensen and the other boys look to Clay, who watches her without expression. Finally Cougar shrugs, and slings his pack in next to hers.

By the time they reach the interstate, things are mostly back to normal – which, under the circumstances, is probably pretty fucking abnormal, but what else are they supposed to do? Jensen chatters inanely. Pooch argues with him, gamely, if more groggily and grumpily than usual. Cougar smirks and keeps his eyes, beneath the brim of his smelly hat, focused on the road ahead. Clay leans back into the passenger seat and tries not to think. He glances at Aisha's reflection in the side mirror. He expects her to be sullen. He expects her to murder them all in the time it takes to change lanes. He doesn't expect to catch her snorting with laughter.

They stop more frequently than the fuel tank demands, to check dressings and administer drugs. At a gas station somewhere across the Arizona border, around sunset, the looming sky fading from blood orange to fathomless indigo, while the others are all inside stocking up on coffee and snack food, Clay goes for a walk. He staggers out of the hissing glare of the parking lot overheads, into the honest twilight of the desert scrub. He drops into a squat, head between his knees, and retches as the preceding twenty-four hours wash over him. He stays there long after he's finished dry-heaving, because he knows when he stands up the world will be just as topsy-turvy as before. Slowly he lets his gaze slide towards the darker horizon, in time to spot a rattlesnake twisting itself across the sand into the gloom. Its sibilant trail begins less than a yard from his shoes.

He stands up and turns around. Aisha is watching him from the edge of the lot, silhouetted against the diesel pumps. She hands him a pack of cinnamon gum before getting back in the car.

They drive deeper into the night. Clay's palms itch where they grip the steering wheel. His boys are all asleep in the back seat, Jensen's head resting on Cougar's shoulder and his hand on Pooch's knee, below the bandages. Aisha's feet are folded beneath her on the passenger side, a sweater tucked under her chin like a blanket and her arms hidden beneath it. Out of the corner of his eye Clay watches her watch white lines. He's noticed something since they left the port: when she looks at him, she doesn't smile; when she does smile, she's not looking at him.

Clay licks his lips and tastes spice. He wants to tell her that he wishes he could take it all back. Wants to tell her that he never would have done it if he'd known – but done what? And known what? That Max was a bigger threat than some careless, callous CO on a radio? That Fadhil had intel he'd later want? That he had a daughter, or that she was lethal and possibly deranged, or even that she was beautiful? The truth was, Fadhil had a cage full of children underneath his hacienda. Whatever else he had or hadn't done, whatever knowledge he had or hadn't been privy to then, Clay did the only thing he could – under those circumstances, yes, but he's fairly confident that, whatever else he'd do differently if given a second chance at life, he'd still put a bullet in Aisha's father. He'd probably still sleep with her, too, if he'd known who she was, because he's stupid like that.

"Aisha," he says, then stops.

He wishes that he could wish.

She turns her head to look at him. Her face is luminous in the blue glow of dashboard LEDs and the bounce of headlights off the highway. A cross decorated with flowers flashes past behind her head, planted on a spot where memories stopped.

"I know," she says.

They both go back to looking forward.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Each One For Her Own (The If Wishes Were Horses Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/410577) by [Medie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie)




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